


Coward's Courage

by RainyTea



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brothels, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, I am amused that there is a tag for that, I couldn't do that to Yuuri, M/M, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, POV Alternating, Politics, Racism, Sexual Slavery, Slow Burn, but not from any of the good guys, he does get kind of beat up though, just mentioned though, more characters will probably show up later, no actual non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyTea/pseuds/RainyTea
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is an idealistic young aristocrat in the New Russian Empire who wants to change how his society treats Omegas. But before he can gain any political power he has to play by his father's rules and find himself an acceptable mate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I had an idea for an A/B/O dystopia, and this is where it ended up.

Viktor winces as the carriage hits another pothole. The current fashion in transportation for the aristocracy looks elegant enough but it doesn’t make for the most comfortable ride, especially with the terrible condition of the streets. Apparently keeping its subject nations in line is more of a priority than infrastructure in the New Russian Empire, even here in the capital. Decades of wars have taken their toll on the country’s resources, after all.

When Viktor was a child his family had a car. He remembers summer days when his mother would take him for drives in the countryside, the windows down and her long silver-blonde hair flying behind her in the wind. Even then fuel had been scarce enough that driving for pleasure was something only the aristocracy could afford to do, but those days are long gone. Viktor’s father still has access to a car, but only because he’s a high-ranking government official.

The carriage jolts again and Viktor swears loudly, earning a glare from Yakov. Viktor flashes him an apologetic smile. The old family retainer is probably even more uncomfortable than Viktor, but he seems determined not to show it. Viktor hopes that they arrive at their destination soon. Not that he’s exactly looking forward to the evening’s festivities.

They’re on their way to a function rather grandly referred to as an “Omega Ball.” Which is a pretty name for what is essentially a meat market; young Omegas who have been trained at a finishing school are put on display to showcase their docility and proper manners. Well-to-do Alphas can then pick and choose among them to find an ideal mate.

Viktor hates the idea. He doesn’t want some simpering young thing trained to do nothing but please him. But his father has made it clear that it was either this, or an arranged marriage. At least this way Viktor has some say in what kind of person his mate will be. Viktor supposes he’s a romantic at heart, but he’s always hoped he could marry for love; someone who is an equal. He knows that isn’t how his society works, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to change things. His father has other ideas, however.

 

* * *

 

“It’s time for you to take responsibility,” Maxim Nikiforov told him on the day Viktor returned from university. They were in his father’s office at their home just outside of St. Petersburg. Unlike the rest of the lavishly decorated house the walls in this room were paneled in a dark walnut that matched the heavy furniture. Other than the display of Maxim’s military medals there were no decorations, no family pictures or trinkets from his travels. Viktor thought the room matched his father’s severe personality well.

“You are twenty-two now,” Maxim continued. “You have a responsibility to this family, and to your country. Part of that responsibility is finding an appropriate spouse for your social station.” Viktor’s eyes drifted towards the window behind his father’s desk. If he heard the word ‘responsibility’ one more time Viktor thought he might just vault over the desk, kick that window open, and run until his responsibilities stopped chasing him. Spring was finally here and the snow was almost all gone; it would be a nice day to take a book and some lunch and hide out in the forest.

“Vitya, are you listening to me?”

Viktor snapped his gaze back to his father’s face. “Of course, sir,” he replied.

Maxim sighed. “I will be leaving soon on a diplomatic mission,” he said. Viktor knew this, of course. “I will probably be gone for a year. While I am away Yakov will be in charge of our businesses. You will assist him, while learning of your responsibilities in that regard.” Viktor looked longingly at the window. “When I return I expect that you will have acquired a suitable mate.”

“Father—”

“No, Viktor Maximovich!” Maxim slammed his palm against the desk. “I indulged you by allowing you to attend a foreign university,” spitting the word  _ foreign _ like an insult, “because it was your mother’s wish. The time for indulgences is over. You will now comply with  _ my _ wishes.” Viktor opened his mouth to protest, but shut it quickly in the face of his father’s angry glare. “If you do not,” Maxim continued, “you will be cut off from your inheritance. Do you understand?”

Viktor bit back a frustrated sigh. “Yes, father.”

“Be glad you are being given the opportunity to choose your own mate,” Maxim said. “That was also your mother’s wish. If I had my choice I would arrange your marriage myself.”

 

* * *

 

Another lurch of the carriage brings Viktor’s thoughts back to the present. He peers out the window to see that they are pulling up to a well-lit building. Several other carriages are stopped out front to let passengers out. “Looks like we’re here,” Viktor says.

“Not a moment too soon,” Yakov mutters. “My back is killing me.”

Viktor smiles fondly at the old man. “Shall we?” Viktor says, as the driver opens the door for him.

Yakov nods. “Vitya?”

“Yes?”

“Try to behave yourself tonight,” Yakov says with a resigned sigh.

“Of course!” Viktor replies with a bright grin. “Don’t I always?”

Yakov just rolls his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri stands up and stretches. Scrubbing toilets isn’t the most unpleasant job he’s been assigned to here, but leaning over for so long is hard on his back. He drops the scrub brush into a bucket and steps out of the stall to lean against the counter. He knows he’ll be punished if Dmitry catches him slacking off, but since the beating won’t be much worse than what he usually receives nightly it’s worth taking the opportunity for a break. With the party tonight the servants are all assigned extra tasks on top of their normal work and Yuuri hasn’t had many moments to himself until now. It’s not like he’s unused to hard work; after all, he’d helped out enough at his parents’ onsen before... before...

He tries to stop the thought before it goes any farther. It won’t do him any good to think about his life before he was abducted and brought to this place. It won’t do him any good to think about his mother and father, Mari, Vicchan—

Yuuri’s suddenly kneeling on the floor of the restroom, sobbing helplessly, his longing for home a fierce ache in his chest. Most of the time he’s able to keep the thoughts of his old life at bay, at least until he’s huddled in his bed at night with the covers thrown over his head, but sometimes he gets blindsided by his memories. It’s been almost three months since he’d been taken, snatched from the streets of Hasetsu while he was walking home from Minako’s. It had been a beautiful summer night, and he'd stopped to admire the moonlight glowing on the ocean. Yuuri knew that it wasn’t safe for an unbonded Omega to be out so late alone, but he was eighteen and thought he was strong and fast enough to take care of himself. He’d been wrong.

In the years since Russia had invaded and subjugated Japan it had become more common for Omegas to be kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery, most of them ending up in brothels in Russia itself. Usually younger, newly presented children were targeted. Yuuri had thought he was old enough to be safe, but male Omegas were less common and therefore more desirable. Before he even realized what was happening he’d been grabbed, bound, and thrown onto a wagon, then taken to a ship. The journey to Moscow had been miserable, but it was nothing compared to what awaited him.

He’d eventually been brought to this place. On the surface it functioned as a school where young Omegas from well-to-do Russian families were sent to learn proper manners and be matched to aristocratic Alpha mates. But the other side of the business was much seedier; a brothel staffed mostly by kidnapped Omegas. On his first night here Yuuri had been left in a room with an older man, an Alpha who said he’d paid a lot of money for the privilege of taking Yuuri’s virginity. Yuuri kicked him in the face and broke his nose. The next three men sent to him suffered similar fates.

Once it became clear that Yuuri refused to submit he’d been given to Dmitry, the servants’ overseer, with instructions that Yuuri was to be broken. Omegas were supposed to be naturally submissive, so the brothel’s clients weren’t interested in someone they had to subdue. Yuuri’s spent the last few months working the most unpleasant jobs in both the brothel and the school. He’s beaten nightly, and food is withheld from him frequently. The only things that Dmitry is not allowed to do is injure or scar Yuuri permanently, or touch him sexually in any way. Doing so would diminish Yuuri’s eventual worth.

Yuuri startles when he hears Dmitry bellowing at one of the other workers out in the corridor. He splashes his face with cold water, trying to erase the evidence of his tears. If the servants’ overseer catches Yuuri slacking off it’s one thing; if he sees Yuuri crying it will be much worse, because then the man will know just how close Yuuri really is to breaking. He manages to get back in the toilet stall and start scrubbing just as Dmitry shoves the restroom door open.

“Boy! Aren’t you done yet?” Yuuri doesn’t answer, keeping his head down as he continues to work. He hopes that if Dmitry notices the redness of his eyes the man will assume it’s due to the fumes from the cleaning solutions, rather than from his crying spell. Dmitry kicks open one of the stall doors. “Get over here and look at this!” he yells. Yuuri winces but does as he says.

“I—I already cleaned that one—” Yuuri starts. Dmitry grabs him by the back of the neck and shoves him towards the toilet.

“Look at how many spots you missed!” he says. “I can’t believe what a sloppy job you did. Start over, and I want them to gleam! The guests will be using this restroom tonight!”

Yuuri wants to yell back, tell him that of course he missed spots, without his glasses he can’t see well enough to make sure he got everything. (One of the first things that Dmitry had done when Yuuri was assigned to him was to throw Yuuri’s glasses on the floor and then step on them. “Omega pigs don’t need such things,” he’d said.) Yuuri fights back the urge this time, though. With the party tonight he’s hoping that Dmitry will get drunk enough on pilfered vodka that he passes out early. Yuuri might even have a chance to sneak out and steal some extra food. So he just nods, grabs his bucket and brush, and starts over again.

Before he leaves the room Dmitry smacks the back of Yuuri’s head for good measure.

Later, finished with his cleaning duties, Yuuri lingers in the corridor around the corner from the ballroom. The party is in full swing. Dmitry’s busy on the other side of the building and Yuuri is determined to make the most of this rare free moment. He was planning on sneaking into the kitchen to grab what food he could, but he gets distracted by the music from the small orchestra. The song’s familiar, one he’d danced to in Minako’s studio what seemed like ages ago. His feet move into position almost of their own accord and he lifts his arms above his head.

And then Yuuri dances.

 

* * *

 

Viktor is bored.

This was the third one of these gatherings he’d been to in the last six months. They were all the same. Young (too young! Viktor thought) Omegas paraded around, presented to him with lists of their qualities like they were some sort of livestock he should be interested in buying. The director of this school seems like the worst Viktor has run across so far. The man is clearly aware of who Viktor’s father is and finding a match for Viktor would probably be quite the feather in his cap. Viktor sips at his champagne and wonders how soon it would be socially acceptable to leave.

Viktor spots Yakov over by the buffet table and was about to join him when the director (Viktor’s been told his name three times but still can’t remember it) comes hurrying up, yet another pretty young thing in tow. “Oh, Mr Nikiforov,” the man calls out. “You simply must meet Katya, here. Isn’t she just lovely?”

Viktor nods and puts on a smile. “Delightful,” he says, as the director places Katya’s hand on Viktor’s arm.

“And she’s from such an  _ excellent _ family, too,” the director says. Well, that’s the whole point, isn’t it, Viktor thinks. It’s not like Omegas from poor families get sent to these kind of schools.

Viktor inclines his head towards Katya. “Would you like to dance?” he asks. It isn’t that he’s interested in her—she can’t be more than fifteen, after all—but dancing is an excuse to get away from the director before he starts going on about how  _ healthy _ she is and what  _ exquisite _ manners she has. Katya nods, wide-eyed, and Viktor leads her to the dance floor. The director actually claps his hands in glee, and Viktor wonders if he can make it through one more hour of this.

At least dancing is something pleasant to do, and Katya’s a graceful partner. Viktor smiles kindly at her, and she blushes. He feels sorry for these children, sent away from their families in order to be trained to be the kind of submissive Omega mates that most Alphas seemed to want. Viktor’s different. His years away at university had exposed him to the idea of Omega rights, and he’d even marched in some protests in support. The concept that Omegas deserve to be treated as equals is gaining momentum in the parts of the world outside of Russia and its subject countries, and now that he’s back home Viktor hopes that he can work towards improving conditions for Omegas here in Russia. But in order to do that he needs to build his own influence within the system, and for that he needs his father’s approval. So therefore he has to play the game and find an acceptable Omega mate. He’d just been hoping he could find someone a little closer to his own age.

The music ends and Viktor bows to little Katya before guiding her back to one of the chaperones. The director is busy chatting with an older couple and their son, so Viktor takes the opportunity to slip out of the ballroom. He takes a deep breath in the cooler air of the corridor, glad to be away from the overly sweet scent of so many young Omegas. He walks away from the ballroom doors, humming along to the music from the orchestra, until he turns the corner and stops, entranced.

There, lit only by the moonlight pouring in through the tall windows, a young man dances alone. He’s dressed simply in what looks to be servant’s clothes, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead. His eyes are closed as he moves, his face beautiful and serene. But what holds Viktor’s attention, what makes his breath catch in his throat, is the way the dancer  _ moves _ . It’s like he’s making music with his body, in the sweep of his arms and the turn of his feet.

Viktor isn’t sure how long he stands there watching when the young man opens his eyes and notices him. He stops dancing, stumbling backwards with his hands to his mouth. “S-sorry, I’m so sorry!” he says, and turns to run.

“Wait!” Viktor calls out. “Please, don’t go!” The young man turns back, hesitant. Viktor approaches him carefully, one hand out. “I’m sorry,” Viktor says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just—your dancing was so beautiful, I couldn’t help but watch.”

The dark-haired man ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I, um, I shouldn’t be—”

“Do you work here?” Viktor asks, and then winces at himself. Of course he must work here, dressed like that. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m not trying to get you in trouble.”

The young man shakes his head. “N-not exactly...” he trails off with a soft laugh. Viktor thinks he’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

“What’s your name?” Viktor asks.

“My name? Oh, um, it’s Yuuri.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats. From his looks and his accent Viktor guesses that Yuuri is Japanese. He wonders what someone who can dance like that is doing here. The orchestra in the ballroom starts up a new song, and Viktor extends his hand to Yuuri. “Yuuri,” he says, “would you dance with me?”

Yuuri stares at him. “Me?” he squeaks. Viktor smiles and nods, and very slowly Yuuri reaches out and takes his hand. Then Yuuri smiles, and Viktor thinks he’s going to melt right then and there.

As the music swells they begin to dance. It isn’t any of the formal dances Viktor knows; instead they create their own steps, neither one leading nor following, a dance between equals. Viktor has been dancing all his life—had learned almost before he could walk—but he’s never danced with someone like this. Yuuri moves as if he were born to it, as if dance were in his bones and in his blood. Viktor’s heart swells at the way the moonlight plays across Yuuri’s face, the way his eyes sparkle. As the music comes to an end Yuuri dips him low, and Viktor laughs. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this happy.

They stand there for a moment, slightly out of breath and grinning at each other, before Viktor says, “Oh! I asked your name, but I didn’t introduce myself!” He takes Yuuri’s hand and bows low over it. “Viktor Maximovich Nikiforov, at your service.” And then he kisses Yuuri’s hand. He catches Yuuri’s scent, partially masked by some pungent cleaning chemical. It’s spicy instead of sweet, but it’s definitely an Omega scent.

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispers. “I—I can’t—I shouldn’t—” Yuuri’s smile is gone now, and he seems nervous.

Viktor reaches out and touches Yuuri’s chin, tilting his head up. There are bruises along Yuuri’s jaw, some fresh but others faded. “Is someone here hurting you?” Viktor asks. Yuuri pulls his head away but doesn’t reply. Viktor feels a surge of anger at the idea of anyone harming this beautiful boy. “I don’t understand—why would someone like you even  _ be  _ here...”

Yuuri’s head snaps up. “Of course you don’t  _ understand _ ,” he says, and there’s bitterness in his voice. He takes a step backwards. “Just—you should go back to your party,” he says. “Find yourself a nice mate. Leave me alone. You can’t help me.” Yuuri starts to turn away, but Viktor catches his arm.

“Wait—”

“Yuuri! Boy! Where the fuck are you!” a voice roars from further down the corridor. Yuuri pulls away from Viktor. He looks terrified.

“I—I’m sorry, I have to go!” and with that he sprints away in the direction of the voice.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri runs as fast as he can until he finds Dmitry. The man’s staggering a bit, clearly drunk but not enough to pass out like Yuuri had hoped. Just drunk enough to be dangerous. Yuuri curses his instinctive response to run towards his tormentor. He should have stayed behind, stayed with Viktor who has kind eyes and beautiful long hair and held Yuuri like he was some kind of treasure while they danced.

“You little shit,” Dmitry snarls at him. “I told you to clean those toilets, and they’re still filthy! What the fuck is wrong with you!” Yuuri knows this isn’t true, he’d scrubbed until the porcelain had sparkled even to his blurry vision. But it doesn’t matter, Dmitry probably hadn’t even looked in that restroom. For some reason the man likes to have an excuse. Yuuri knows what’s coming next and throws his arms over his head, trying to protect himself from the worst of the blows.

It doesn’t help. Dmitry’s heavy fist connects with his temple and Yuuri’s ears ring from the impact. He cries out in pain, even though he knows that will only make Dmitry angrier. A second blow sends him sprawling to the floor. He tries to crawl away but a kick to his stomach leaves him gasping for air. He curls around himself, waiting for the next strike. Instead, there’s the sound of running feet and the thud of a body hitting the wall. Yuuri peeks between his fingers and sees Dmitry slumped on his side, his eyes glazed and blood dripping from his nose. Yuuri buries his head in his arms and hopes that whatever is happening will spare him.

 

* * *

 

Viktor’s never felt much like an Alpha. The stereotype that Alphas are aggressive, domineering, even violent really doesn’t fit him. Sure, he gets angry sometimes, everyone does, but he never lets it get out of control. He’d learned as a child to keep his emotions in check; the consequences for not doing so were too dire, and that restraint has continued into adulthood.

But when he hears Yuuri cry out in pain rage flares up in him in a way he’s never experienced before. It’s like a thunderclap; like dropping a lit match into gasoline. He’s dizzy and there’s a roaring in his ears as he runs, turning the corner to see Yuuri crumpled on the floor. An older Alpha is standing over him with fists raised, and as Viktor watches he kicks Yuuri in the stomach. Without even thinking Viktor grabs the man by the back of the neck and slams his face into the wall. The man goes limp and Viktor lets go of him, automatically turning towards Yuuri.

Yuuri’s curled in a ball, gasping for air. Viktor kneels beside him and places a hand on his arm. Yuuri’s head snaps up at the touch, his eyes wide in fear as he scrambles backwards until he hits the opposite wall of the corridor. Viktor feels a sudden surge of protectiveness—another Alpha instinct he isn’t used to—and moves towards Yuuri, hands spread wide in a placating gesture. “Yuuri, it’s okay,” he murmurs. “I won’t let him hurt you.” Yuuri, chest still heaving, shakes his head and tries to move further away.

“What in the world is going on here?” Viktor looks up to see the director coming down the hall towards him, followed by a pair of guards and a few servants. Trailing along behind them is a rather resigned-looking Yakov. “Mr Nikiforov?” the director asks, as Viktor stands and places himself between Yuuri and the approaching group. “Dmitry, what are you doing on the floor?”

The man in question groans and struggles to his feet. “His lordship here attacked me,” Dmitry says, prodding gingerly at his swollen nose. Viktor viciously hopes it’s broken.

All eyes turn to Viktor.

Viktor takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. “Your man here was beating this boy,” Viktor says, gesturing at Dmitry. “I felt I had to step in.” Even though he’s not used to his Alpha instincts taking over like that, Viktor can’t regret protecting Yuuri.

“But—but the boy’s just one of the lower servants,” the director says. “Dmitry is in charge of them, and I’m sure he was merely applying some necessary discipline.” Dmitry scowls and nods in agreement.

“I hardly think a kick to the stomach is an appropriate method of discipline,” Viktor says coldly.

“Now now, Mr Nikiforov, it’s really not anything you should be worrying about,” the director says. “I’m sure Dmitry here forgives your honest mistake.” He turns and looks expectantly at Dmitry.

Dmitry doesn’t exactly look forgiving, but he gives a short bow to Viktor. “Of course, your lordship,” he says.

“There, you see,” the director says, “it’s all taken care of. Now why don’t we return to the ballroom? There are still some lovely young Omegas for you to meet.”

Viktor turns and looks at Yuuri, who is still huddled on the floor. Viktor’s chest aches to see this beautiful young man, who had seemed so sparkling and full of life as they danced, look so empty and broken. He knows he can’t leave Yuuri here, to whatever fate awaits him. He has a sudden idea. A very brilliant idea. Viktor gives the director his most charming smile. “Actually, that won’t be necessary,” he says.

“Oh? You have chosen a mate, then?” the director says with an ingratiating smile. “Is it little Katya? Oh, I just  _ knew _ you’d like—”

“No.” Viktor cuts him off, still smiling. “I think Yuuri here is exactly who I’ve been looking for.”

The director blinks at him. “But—but that’s not possible!” he splutters. “He’s just a servant—don’t be ridiculous—”

“He is an Omega, is he not?” Viktor asks.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then I’ve made my decision,” Viktor says. “I’m sure my father will be very pleased to know that I’ve found my future mate at your fine institution.” He hates having to mention his father in order to get his way, but Viktor knows that the director is the type who will be easily swayed.

The director still looks doubtful. “Director Morozov,” Yakov says, stepping forward (oh,  _ that’s _ his name, Viktor thinks), “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. Perhaps the Nikiforov family can provide a substantial donation to your school?” Viktor flashes the old man a grateful smile. At least the family fortune can be put to good use for once.

“Oh—oh! Well, I suppose in that case we can make an exception.” Morozov turns to one of the servants behind him. “Take the boy away, see if you can’t clean him up a little,” he says. He then gestures to Viktor. “Mr Nikiforov, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to my office, we can take care of the necessary paperwork.” Viktor nods and starts to follow, but then turns back to look at Yuuri. The young man gives Viktor a stricken look, ignoring the servant who is trying to lead him away. Viktor feels a pang of guilt for making the decision without even asking Yuuri if it was what he wanted, but surely this was better than staying here, enduring more awful treatment?

“Mr Nikiforov?” Morozov prompts. Viktor reluctantly tears his eyes away from Yuuri and follows the director down the hall. As he passes Yakov, the old man gives him a wry look and shakes his head.

 

* * *

 

Less than an hour later Viktor and Yakov stand in the building’s portico, waiting for the carriage to be brought around. They’re soon joined by Morozov and a guard, leading a dejected-looking Yuuri. Viktor frowns to see that Yuuri is still wearing the same simple servant’s clothes and that he doesn’t seem to have a bag or any possessions with him, or even a coat against the cold of the late September evening.

Viktor looks at the director. “Where are his things?” he asks.

“Oh, no, the lower servants aren’t allowed to have personal belongings,” Morozov replies. Viktor’s starting to get the feeling that “lower servant” is a euphemism; Yuuri is chattel. Viktor’s aware of the rumors of the slave trade but has never run across evidence of it personally. He’d heard victims were usually taken from subject countries, and were often Omegas. It makes Viktor even more glad that he’s able to take Yuuri away from this.

As their carriage pulls up Viktor takes off his woolen overcoat and drapes it around Yuuri’s shoulders. He leans down and catches Yuuri’s gaze. “It’s okay now,” Viktor murmurs. “I won’t let you be hurt any more.” Yuuri looks back at him with an empty, defeated gaze. Viktor realizes that Yuuri must think he’s just been sold; transferred from one life of servitude to another. He’ll make sure to explain things to Yuuri later. Viktor helps Yuuri into the carriage, Yakov following after them.

Viktor lets out a sigh of relief when the carriage door closes behind them. “Ugh, finally we’re out of there,” he says. Yakov frowns at him from the other side of the carriage, shaking his head.

“Vitya, you realize your father is going to be livid over this.”

Viktor looks at Yuuri, who is leaning against the side of the carriage, staring out the window. “I know,” Viktor says. “But technically I’m doing what he asked, right?”

Yakov rolls his eyes, but he has a fond expression on his face. “Your mother would be proud of you,” he says quietly.

Viktor smiles to himself at that. It’s almost enough to let him ignore the jolting of the carriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can yell at me on [tumblr](https://rainyteawrites.tumblr.com/).
> 
> ***5/12/17 Edited to fix a timeline error. Yuuri was abducted in summer, not spring. D'oh!***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri considers what his new life is going to be like, and Viktor attempts to court him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you squint there's a bit of fluff amongst the angst. And speaking of fluff, Makkachin makes an appearance!

Yuuri wakes up to a knocking at his door. “Mmmph, go away Mari, it’s too early,” he mumbles, and shoves his face back into his pillow. The knocking continues. Yuuri rolls over and squints against the brightness of the room. He’s disoriented for a moment, because this isn’t his room back in Hasetsu, and it isn’t the cramped little cell he’s slept in for the last few months. Then he remembers last night, remembers dancing with the beautiful silver-haired man, remembers getting hit by Dmitry, remembers the carriage ride. Remembers being _bought_.

“Yuuri?” comes a voice from the other side of the door. Viktor. “If you’re awake breakfast will be ready soon.” There’s a pause. “Um, I brought you some clean clothes.” Another pause, then the doorknob rattles. Yuuri sits upright in alarm, gathering the comforter to his chest, before he remembers locking the door last night. “Okay,” Viktor says, “I’ll leave the clothes out here. Just come downstairs whenever you’re ready.” Yuuri listens to the creaking of the floorboards as Viktor walks away.

Yuuri lets out a sigh of relief. He looks around the room curiously. He’d been too exhausted last night to pay much attention to his surroundings, other than locking the bedroom door (and being amazed that he _could_ ) and checking the windows. His room seemed to be on the top floor of the house, and although the windows could be opened there was no escape that way. After that he’d collapsed on the bed and fallen into a deep sleep.

Now he slips out of bed and explores the room. It’s tastefully decorated with white-painted furniture and gold accents. The curtains and fluffy bed linens are cream-colored silk. He peeks out of one of the windows at the street below and sees rows of townhouses similar to the one he’s in. Judging from the houses across the street he guesses he’s on the fourth floor; just as he’d thought last night there’s no ledge outside the window and the drop to the street is too far to jump. Yuuri sighs and turns to the only other door in the room besides the door to the hallway. Inside is a white-tiled bathroom. Yuuri’s breath catches at the sight of the big claw-footed tub. His skin practically itches at the thought of being able to get truly clean.

While the tub is filling Yuuri unlocks the hall door and peers cautiously outside. There’s no-one in the short hallway, but on a table across from the door is a pile of neatly-folded clothing. Yuuri grabs the clothes and dashes back into his room, locking the door behind him.

Minutes later he’s neck-deep in blissfully hot water. The bathtub’s no onsen, but it’s the closest he’s come in months. He leans back and relaxes, breathing in the hot steam. He wishes he could enjoy this more, but he’s anxious about what his new life is going to be like. Despite the unexpected luxury of being allowed a room to himself he’s under no illusion that his situation has changed significantly. If anything, living somewhere he feels safer and where he will (he assumes) be given enough food will soon become a problem.

At the brothel he’d been able to fight off the men he’d been given to, but the irony was if he’d been treated better his resistance would have eventually been pointless. If he’d gotten proper nutrition and decent rest he would have gone into heat by now; his last one happened almost a month before he’d been abducted and now it’s overdue. When he was in heat he’d be unable to hold out against an Alpha’s advances. He wondered why his captors weren’t aware of that—were they that ignorant of Omega biology? Not that he was complaining about it.

But now—if the treatment he’s received so far is any indication—his Omega instincts will allow his heat to start. He doesn’t think the lock on the door will be enough to stop a determined Alpha, and although Viktor seems kind enough it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still an Alpha. An Alpha who owns Yuuri, and will surely feel entitled to take what he wants.

Yuuri shivers, the water of the bath starting to cool. He tries to put the worries about his upcoming heat out of his mind as he grabs the soap and starts scrubbing. Maybe he’ll find an opportunity to escape before then.

 

* * *

 

“Vitya, you’re pouting,” Yakov says.

Viktor pushes the food around on his plate. “I’m not,” he says. Yakov gives him a long, steady look. Viktor sighs. “Did—did I do the right thing?” he asks. “Last night... he wouldn’t even look at me when we got back here. I thought he’d be happy to get out of that place.”

Yakov stirs his tea. “Give him time,” he says. “He’s scared. He doesn’t know who he can trust.”

“But—”

“Vitya, you’re impulsive. You always have been. But this time you really didn’t think your actions through.”

Viktor frowns. “I couldn’t just leave him there!”

“I know you couldn’t,” Yakov says. “You’re soft-hearted, just like your mother was. But have you thought about what you’re going to do now? You can’t seriously believe your father will allow you to inherit his position with a foreigner as your mate.”

“He said that I could make my own choice.” Viktor knows Yakov’s right, though. His father considers anyone who isn’t Russian-born to be less than human, and that goes double for anyone of Japanese descent. As one of the military leaders during the invasion of Japan over twenty years ago Maxim considered the Japanese people to be little more than savages. “It’ll just have to be a done deal by the time he gets back,” Viktor says. “If we’ve already bonded he won’t dare separate us.” Separating bonded mates—especially when the bond is new—can be painful and even dangerous for both Alpha and Omega. There have been documented cases of people wasting away and dying after losing their mate. At the very least, most never take another mate. Viktor wonders if that’s why his father has remained alone for all these years.

“And are you so sure that Yuuri will accept you?”

Viktor smiles. “I’ll just have to charm him,” he says. “But I don’t think it will be that hard. I really felt a connection with him last night, Yakov. I’m sure he feels the same way.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri stands at the top of the stairs, hesitating. The bath had been wonderful; for the first time in months he feels clean all over. The clothes that Viktor left for him were a little too big, but with the cuffs rolled up and the belt cinched tight they’ll do for now. At least they’re better than his filthy servant’s clothes. He’s considering just crawling back into bed and staying there for the rest of the day since he’s still sore and achy from the beating he’d taken last night. But out here on the landing the smell of breakfast drifts up from below, and his stomach growls loudly. Yuuri shrugs and starts down. It’s not like he can put it off forever.

At the bottom of the stairs he looks around, unsure which way to go until he hears muffled voices and the clinking of cutlery coming from an archway further down the hall. He cautiously peers into the room—

And is knocked onto his back by something big and fluffy and brown. For just a moment he thinks of Vicchan, but this dog is much bigger than his beloved pet. Yuuri breaks out into laughter as the dog enthusiastically licks his face.

“Oh no! Down, Makka, down!” Viktor’s standing over him, pulling the dog back by the collar. “I’m so sorry, Makkachin gets really excited when she meets new people.” He extends the hand that isn’t holding back an excited poodle to Yuuri.

Yuuri takes his hand and lets Viktor pull him to his feet. “It’s okay,” he says. “I like dogs.”

“Really?” Viktor says with a delighted smile.

Yuuri nods. “I had—have—a dog back home that’s a lot like her. Except smaller.” He leans down to scratch Makkachin behind the ears and blinks hard, fighting back the tears that always come when he thinks of home. As he stands up he notices that Viktor is still holding his hand. “Um...”

“Oh, you must be starving!” Viktor says. “Here, sit down. You can have anything you want.”

“Eh, whatever you’re having is fine,” Yuuri says as he lets himself be led to a chair.

“Yakov’s having porridge,” Viktor says, making a face. “He likes it.”

“I don’t _like_ it,” Yakov grumbles, “it’s my stomach that won’t tolerate anything else this early.”

“There’s blinis,” Viktor says. “They’re really good.” He beams at Yuuri.

“That—that’s fine,” Yuuri says. He’s not really sure what to make of Viktor. He seems as excitable as his dog. Who is sitting at Yuuri’s feet, her head on his knee as she looks up at him with hopeful eyes.

“No, Makka,” Viktor says. “No begging. Go lie down.” Makkachin whines but doesn’t move. “I’m sorry,” Viktor says. “I haven’t had her very long and she’s still learning her manners.”

“She’d learn faster if you didn’t spoil her so much,” Yakov says. He puts his spoon down and stands up. “I’ll be back later,” he says. “I need to check in on some of our businesses here before we leave.”

“Okay, bye!” Viktor waves cheerily as Yakov leaves the room. He places a plate piled high with food in front of Yuuri before sitting down on the other side of the table. He props his chin on one hand, gazing at Yuuri with bright eyes. Yuuri can’t help but smile as he digs into his food. Viktor’s long hair hangs loose over his shoulders and Yuuri wonders what it would feel like to run his fingers through it.

“Did you sleep well?” Viktor asks. Yuuri nods, his mouth stuffed full of blini. (Viktor’s right, they are really good.) “I was thinking, if you like, we could go out shopping today.” Yuuri blinks at him. Shopping? Viktor gestures at him. “Not that you don’t look cute in my clothes,” he says, “but you’d probably like things that fit you better.”

Yuuri looks down at his plate and continues to chew. After last night he’s not really sure what to expect of his new life, but being told he’s cute and taken out shopping for new clothes certainly wasn’t something he’d anticipated. He peeks up at Viktor, who’s looking at him expectantly. “Um, that’s fine,” Yuuri mumbles, wiping jam from the corner of his mouth.

“Perfect!” Viktor says with a grin. Yuuri finds himself smiling back. As he finishes his breakfast Yuuri tries to remind himself of his situation. No matter how nice Viktor seems, how pretty his sea-blue eyes are, how graceful his long-fingered hands are, how sweet his smile is—

Yuuri stops that train of thought. He can’t forget—won’t let himself forget—that this man owns him. He may be kind now, but what happens when Yuuri tries to resist him? He puts his fork down, appetite suddenly gone.

“Yuuri?” Viktor says. “Is everything okay?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “N-no, it’s nothing,” he says.

“Are you still tired from yesterday? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, it’s just that we’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow and there really won’t be much time to get you any new clothes for the trip and—”

“No, I’m fine,” Yuuri says, “It’s just—wait, leaving?”

Viktor nods. “Yes, we’ll be going home to St. Petersburg,” he says.

“You don’t live here? This isn’t your house?”

“Oh, it is,” Viktor laughs, “but this is just the townhouse we use when we have business here in Moscow. The estate is in St. Petersburg.”

“Is that where your parents are?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor shakes his head. “My father’s away on a diplomatic mission for the next several months,” he says. “My mother...” he looks away. “She died when I was little,” he says softly.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, “I’m—I’m sorry.” He misses his own mother fiercely, but at least she’s alive and well back in Hasetsu. Or at least he hopes she is.

Viktor gestures at a portrait hanging above the sideboard. “That’s her,” he says. Yuuri squints, but at this distance he can’t make much out. He stands up and gets closer until he can see the figure in the painting clearly. The woman has the same long silver-blonde hair that Viktor does. “She’s pretty,” Yuuri says. He turns to Viktor. “You look like her.”

Viktor nods absently, but he’s frowning at Yuuri. “Do you have trouble seeing?” he asks.

“Oh, um, yeah. I’m nearsighted,” Yuuri says.

“Don’t you have glasses?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I used to. They were taken away from me.”

Viktor frowns again, but then nods. “Okay,” he says, standing up. “If you’re sure you’re feeling well enough, we should go soon.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yuuri says. In truth he is still sore and tired, but he realizes that for as long as he’s been in Moscow he’s never actually been out into the city itself and he’s curious. Besides, it might give him the opportunity he needs to escape. He goes back to the table and starts to gather up the breakfast dishes. Viktor stops him with a hand on his arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Um, cleaning up?”

“You don’t have to do that, Yuuri. The housekeeper will take care of it.”

Yuuri nods and puts the stack of plates down. “Okay,” he says, looking down at his feet.

Viktor puts a hand under Yuuri’s chin and tilts his head up until Yuuri meets his eyes. “Yuuri, you’re not here to be a servant. You understand that, right?”

“I know,” Yuuri says, and he can’t help the bitterness in his voice. “I know what you bought me for.”

“Bought? No! I—” Viktor drops his hand like he’s been burned and steps back. “I didn’t!”

“You gave them money and they gave you me,” Yuuri says. Is Viktor really so naive?

“But—but that’s not what I—I just—” Viktor takes a breath. “I just wanted to get you out of there,” he says. “They were hurting you! I couldn’t leave you in that place.”

“So instead you brought me here to be your mate,” Yuuri says. “Whether I want to or not. I think that counts as hurting me.”

Viktor stares at him. “No! It’s not like that,” he says. “Yuuri, I wouldn’t do anything without your consent.” He blushes and looks away. “I just... hope you’ll give me a chance.”

Now it’s Yuuri’s turn to stare. “You want to—to court me?” he asks.

Viktor smiles gently. “If you’ll let me,” he says. He looks hopeful.

Yuuri’s not sure what kind of game Viktor is playing here. It seems like Viktor wants to pretend that Yuuri has a choice, maybe so he’ll feel less guilty. Yuuri shrugs and looks away. “If that’s what you want,” he says. He can play along, at least until he has an opportunity to escape.

Viktor bows low and catches Yuuri’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his fingers. He straightens up before letting go with a smile and a wink. “So, shopping? Do you feel up to it?” Yuuri nods. “Great!” Viktor says. “I’ll have the carriage brought around. Makkachin! Wanna go for a ride?” The dog woofs happily and bounds out of the room after him.

Yuuri watches them go, feeling suddenly warm all over.

 

* * *

 

Viktor’s come to the conclusion that he loves spoiling Yuuri.

They’ve already been to the clothing store and picked up a few outfits for Yuuri. Viktor normally wouldn’t be caught dead buying off-the-rack, but Yuuri needs something to wear until they return to St. Petersburg; after they get back he’ll take Yuuri to his favorite tailor to get him a proper wardrobe. At least the store offered alterations and Yuuri’s new clothes should be delivered to the townhouse by morning. Now they’re out in the early afternoon sunshine, strolling along one of the main boulevards and stopping in at the various shops. In a shop that sells fine porcelain Viktor buys a figurine of a poodle, because Yuuri said it looked like Makkachin. As they walk past a candy store Yuuri comments that the smell of roasting hazelnuts smells good; Viktor buys a pound and a half. In a jewelry shop he notices Yuuri admiring a pair of cloisonné hair combs with a design of blue roses. “I can’t wear those, my hair’s too short,” Yuuri protests when Viktor asks the shop assistant to wrap them up.

“Then I’ll wear them for you,” Viktor says. The shop assistant points out a brooch that matches the combs, so he buys that for Yuuri. He can’t help it; he wants to give Yuuri everything, make him smile and laugh and sparkle. And it works, for a while. At a flower vendor Viktor buys a bouquet of chrysanthemums and drops to one knee to present them to Yuuri. Yuuri laughs and calls him ridiculous and tucks one of the blossoms into Makkachin’s collar.

As they walk Viktor can’t help but notice the unfriendly stares that Yuuri gets from passers-by and it makes him feel protective. He hates the prevailing attitude here that anyone foreign—anyone not Russian—is automatically inferior. Viktor knows better, and he wants to yell at his fellow countrymen because can’t they see how beautiful Yuuri is? How perfect? How Yuuri is everything that they are not and they should worship at his feet? Viktor sighs and tucks Yuuri’s arm a little tighter underneath his own.

After they drop the packages off with the carriage driver they stop at a nearby café for lunch. Viktor watches with interest as Yuuri looks over the menu and orders for himself.

“Your Russian is very good,” Viktor says.

Yuuri shrugs. “I learned it in school. It’s a required subject in Japan.” Viktor nods. It’s a standard policy in the countries that Russia has conquered. “I’ve gotten better at it recently,” Yuuri continues. “You’d be surprised how much the threat of a beating will motivate you to learn a language.”

“They beat you to make you learn Russian?” Viktor asks, shocked. It makes him sick to think of how Yuuri had been treated.

Yuuri shakes his head. “No, I mean that if Dmitry didn’t have to tell me twice to do something he had less of an excuse to hit me. Most of the time.”

Viktor reaches across the table to touch Yuuri’s hand. “Yuuri,” he says, “I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I won’t let anyone ever hurt you like that again.”

Yuuri looks up at him, his expression flat. “Then let me go,” he says.

Viktor blinks at him. “I—I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Viktor’s quiet for a moment. What should he say? That he can’t stand the idea of letting Yuuri go, only to be hurt again? That even though he’s known Yuuri for less than a day he’s already smitten? That he needs Yuuri to be his mate? “Because it’s too dangerous,” Viktor says finally. “You’d just get caught again. Yuuri, believe me when I say that all I want is to keep you safe.”

“Safe,” Yuuri says distantly, staring out the window as the server brings their food.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri seems tired after lunch, but Viktor has one more stop planned for them. Yuuri looks at him curiously as they enter the optician’s shop. Viktor smiles at the woman behind the counter. “My friend is nearsighted,” he tells her, “and needs new glasses.” She nods and guides Yuuri to the examination chair. While she uses various lenses and charts to determine the strength of the lenses Yuuri needs Viktor looks at the display of frames. There’s a pair made with bronze-colored wire that Viktor thinks will look lovely on Yuuri. After the examination is done he shows them to Yuuri.

Yuuri shrugs, but then he spots a pair with dark-blue rims. “I like those,” Yuuri says shyly.

Viktor smiles and places them on Yuuri. He touches Yuuri’s chin gently, careful of the fading bruises still there as he turns Yuuri’s face back and forth. “You look beautiful in them,” Viktor says, and Yuuri blushes. Viktor asks the optician if the glasses can be ready by tomorrow. She looks doubtful, until Viktor offers to pay extra. She assures them that she’ll have the glasses delivered to the townhouse no later than tomorrow afternoon. “Perfect,” Viktor says.

Outside of the shop Yuuri stops Viktor. “Thank you,” he says. “F-for the glasses. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” Viktor says. “You need them. You won’t want for anything, Yuuri, not while you’re with me.” Yuuri’s face falls at that, and Viktor wonders what he said wrong this time. He sighs and tugs on Makkachin’s leash. “Come on Makka, let’s go home,” Viktor says. “It’s almost time for your dinner!” She barks happily at the word ‘dinner’ and eagerly pulls at the leash. As they walk Viktor watches Yuuri out of the corner of his eye. He looks distant again, but perhaps he’s just tired.

Not for the first time that afternoon Viktor wonders what it would be like to kiss Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri lies on his back on the soft bed and stares at the ceiling. After they’d returned from their shopping trip he’d been exhausted, and it must have been obvious because Viktor suggested that Yuuri try and get some rest. “I’ll have dinner sent to your room, if you like,” Viktor told him. Yuuri thought that he’d be out as soon as he hit the bed, but now he can’t sleep. There’s too many thoughts racing through his head. He can’t stop thinking about Viktor.

He doesn’t understand why Viktor would want someone like him in the first place. Viktor’s family is obviously wealthy and of high social standing. He’s beautiful and charming and there’s probably dozens of eligible Omegas who would jump at the chance to be his mate. And Yuuri is... Yuuri. He’s plain and awkward and is probably the least socially-acceptable spouse someone like Viktor could possibly choose. Yet Viktor seems determined to court him, if this afternoon was anything to go by.

He’s never really thought about what it would be like to have a mate. Back home there hadn’t been anyone he was interested enough in to consider it. Even during his heats he’d wanted to be alone. He knows there are people like that, and there’s nothing wrong with it; he’d always assumed he was one of them. But now Yuuri allows himself to wonder if it would really be that bad to let Viktor court him. Would he be tender and caring? Would he make Yuuri feel things he’s never felt before? Yuuri closes his eyes and imagines how it would feel if Viktor were to touch him, to kiss more than just his hand...

Giving up on the idea of a nap Yuuri gets up and goes over to the window seat. It’s doing him no good to keep thinking of these things. There’s no way that Viktor can actually be attracted to him, and it’s ridiculous to even consider the idea. Yuuri gazes out the window and tries to clear his head. The sun’s just setting over the Moscow skyline, painting Communist-era buildings and baroque church towers alike in shades of gold and red. It’s pretty enough, Yuuri thinks, but it’s not home. He ignores the lump in his throat at the thought of _home_ , and wonders if St. Petersburg will look different than this. He wonders if he’ll be there long enough to even notice.

There had been several times during the day when Viktor was distracted, by Makkachin or something else, when Yuuri could have easily slipped away. He tells himself now that it wasn’t the right time, that it will be better to try and escape from St. Petersburg. If he remembers his geography lessons correctly St. Petersburg is close to the border and the less distance he’ll have to travel within Russia the less chance there will be that he’ll be caught. Besides, it will be easier for him when he has his new glasses. The new glasses that Viktor so kindly bought for him. Viktor, who looks at Yuuri with shining eyes and a smile that almost makes the shape of a heart. Viktor who touches Yuuri so gently and yet makes Yuuri’s heart pound when he does. Viktor who—

Ugh. He’s not going to get any rest if he keeps letting his thoughts go in circles like this. He’d noticed a small library on the second floor. Maybe he can find a book to distract himself. He unlocks the bedroom door and slips down the stairs, but freezes when he hears voices in the room across from the library.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Yakov,” Viktor’s saying. Yuuri knows it’s rude to eavesdrop, but he’s long past caring about that. Listening in on other people’s conversations helped him to survive at the brothel. It’s not like it’s different here.

Yakov sighs. “Vitya, it’s been less than a day. I told you to give it time.”

“He asked me to let him go today,” Viktor says.

“Well, maybe that would be for the best,” Yakov says. “Let him go and find yourself a nice Russian girl that your father will approve of.”

“But that’s not what I want! I don’t see why I can’t find someone to love.”

“Vitya, it’s not love! You pity him. It’s no different than when you found Makkachin. She was lost and lonely and you felt sorry for her.”

“He’s not a _dog_ , Yakov.”

“I know that, but do you? If he wants to go, what right do you have to keep him?”

Viktor sighs. Yuuri can hear him pacing. “He’d never survive. He’d get caught again, and he’d end up someplace worse. At least with me he’ll be safe.” There’s a pause. “I just have this strong feeling that I need to protect him.”

“That’s the Alpha in you talking,” Yakov says.

Yuuri doesn’t stick around to listen any more; he’s heard enough. He goes back up the stairs, careful not to let any of the steps creak beneath his weight. He gets it now. Viktor’s not interested in him as a person, he just wants someone to make him feel like an Alpha. He just sees Yuuri as a weak Omega who needs to be cared for. It’s fine, Yuuri thinks. As soon as they get to St. Petersburg he’ll plan his escape. Viktor may think he’s weak, but Yuuri knows he’s strong enough to make it back home on his own.

When he gets back to the bedroom he locks the door behind him and tries to ignore the tears rolling down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to attempt to update this about once a week (life permitting.)  
> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://rainyteawrites.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor introduces Yuuri to his new home; Yuuri worries about his upcoming heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last an update! I'm sorry this took so long, work went kablooie on me and then I just struggled to write this, for some reason. I knew I should have never said I'd update weekly. Hopefully the next chapter won't take this long.

 

Yuuri leans his head against the window of the train car, idly watching the landscape fly by. He wishes he had something to distract himself with. He fidgets in his seat, prompting Yakov to glare at him from the other side of the compartment. Yuuri gives him an apologetic smile and tries to keep still. He pushes his new glasses further up his nose and looks back out the window. Viktor said the trip to St. Petersburg would take about eight hours.

  
"It used to be faster," he'd said. "But the rails aren’t in very good repair. Most of the steel nowadays goes to the military.” Yuuri hadn’t missed the look of disapproval on Viktor’s face.

“You—you don’t think that it should,” Yuuri said.

“I just think the resources we have left could be put to better use,” Viktor said. Yuuri had wanted to ask more—he’d always thought the Russian people approved of their country’s policies of invasion and occupation—but before he could say anything the call for boarding their train was announced over the loudspeakers, and he hadn’t had a chance to continue the conversation later.

Now Yuuri looks at Viktor, slumped over in the seat next to him and snoring softly. (How can someone look so pretty while they’re snoring, Yuuri thinks. It’s ridiculous.) He turns back to the window, closes his eyes, and tries to sleep, hoping that the rhythmic sound of the wheels on the tracks will lull him. It’s no good. He’s too anxious. He knows his heat is going to start soon, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can tell he’s got a couple of days before it starts, but if he escapes (assuming he can) there’s no way he can be sure of getting somewhere safe in time. If he stays he knows he won’t be able to fight Viktor off. There’s no good solution and he hates it.

He shifts in his seat again and accidentally kicks Yakov’s foot. “Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles. He wishes he wasn’t so restless. Back home when he’d get like this he’d go to Minako’s studio to dance, or go for a run. Here there’s nothing to do except let his thoughts circle endlessly, around and around, never getting anywhere.

Yuuri looks back over at Viktor again. He’s awake now, looking at Yuuri with sleepy eyes. “Mmm, are we there yet?”

“Four more hours,” Yakov says without looking up from his newspaper.

Viktor yawns and stretches his arms above his head. Yuuri stares at the line of his throat as he tilts his head back. A strand of hair has come loose from his ponytail, falling across his forehead, and Yuuri represses the urge to brush it back. Viktor turns to look again at Yuuri, who feels his face heat up at being caught staring so blatantly. He doesn’t look away, though.

“I think I’ll go get some coffee,” Viktor says. “Would you like to join me?” The smile he gives Yuuri is... affectionate? Fond? Yuuri reminds himself it isn’t real, that it’s just the drive of an Alpha trying to possess an Omega.

It still makes his heart race a little faster.

“Um, no, I’ll stay here,” Yuuri says. In truth getting out of this compartment and stretching his legs does sound good, but with the way he’s feeling right now he thinks it might be a good idea to put some distance between them. Viktor looks a little disappointed, but nods.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a bit. Can I get you anything?” Yuuri shakes his head. “Yakov?” Viktor asks. Yakov grunts and waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.

After Viktor leaves Yuuri glances over at Yakov. He wonders if he could ask Yakov for a section of his newspaper. “Um...” Yuuri starts.

Yakov looks up. “You remind me of his mother,” he says abruptly.

“Eh?”

Yakov folds his newspaper and sets it down on his knee. “His mother,” Yakov says. “She was an Omega. I worked for her family for years. Watched her grow up. She was a prima ballerina with the city’s finest company. A true beauty.” Yuuri listens with interest. This is the most Yakov has said to him so far. “Maxim—Viktor’s father—saw her dance, and decided he had to have her. He’s a government minister,” Yakov fixes him with a look, “he has power. You understand, right?” Yuuri nods. He does understand. Viktor’s family is clearly wealthy, and in Russia with wealth comes power. “As part of the marriage arrangement I went with her.” Yakov pauses, staring out the window, a faraway look on his face. “Maxim doted on her. Gave her everything she ever wanted. I think he truly loved her.”

“What—what was her name?” Yuuri asks softly.

“Valentina,” Yakov says. “A true beauty,” he says again. “I don’t think she ever learned to love Maxim, but he was good to her. Viktor was her pride and joy. She told me, once, that she was heartbroken to give up ballet, but that her child made it all worth it.” Yuuri wonders if Yakov is telling him all this so he’s prepared for his own future fate. He’s never really thought about what it would be like to have children. It always seemed so far in the future. Not that it really matters, here. “When she found out she was dying she made Maxim promise that he would raise Viktor the way she wanted. She wanted her son to be able to make his own choices in life. The way she hadn’t been able to.”

“And you—you think I’m like her?” Yuuri asks.

Yakov nods. “She had a strong will. When they were first married Maxim wanted her to be submissive. But she was stubborn and wouldn’t give in. In the end I think that’s why he loved her.” He turns back from the window to look at Yuuri. “You have the same look she did. There’s fire in you.” Yuuri looks away. He doesn’t feel much like he has fire in him right now. “Vitya’s a good boy. A good man. He means well.” Yakov picks up his newspaper, shakes it out, and goes back to reading. “This isn’t the worst thing that could happen to you,” he says. “But if you’re going to run, do it soon. Before he gets attached.”

Yuuri leans his head against the window and sighs. Viktor’s not the only one who’s at risk of getting attached.

 

* * *

  

The sun is just setting by the time they arrive at the estate.

Yuuri’s clearly tired from the long trip; as Viktor helps him out of the carriage he stumbles and falls into Viktor’s arms. “Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Viktor says, as Yuuri pulls away from him and straightens up. Viktor’s tempted to pick Yuuri up and carry him into the house, but he’s pretty sure Yuuri would protest the treatment. Instead, Viktor takes Yuuri’s arm and leads him up the steps. “I’m sure Sveta has your room ready, if you want to rest before dinner.”

“Sveta?” Yuuri asks.

“Svetlana, our housekeeper. Ah, and here she is,” Viktor says, gesturing at the small woman waiting for them in the foyer.

“Vitya, sweetheart, there you are!” Svetlana stands on her toes and pulls Viktor down to give him a kiss. Viktor laughs fondly. Svetlana has worked for his family as long as he can remember. After his mother died she’d been the one to take care of him, becoming his mother in everything but name.

“Sveta, this is Yuuri,” Viktor says. Yuuri gives her a formal bow, but Sveta sweeps him into her arms for a big hug, then kisses him soundly on both cheeks.

“Welcome, my dear!” she says, beaming. “Oh, but you must be tired from your trip. Come with me, I’ll draw you a hot bath.” With that she takes a rather bewildered-looking Yuuri by the hand and leads him further into the house. Viktor’s about to follow when Yakov calls out to him.

“Vitya, you should contact your father,” Yakov says. Viktor sighs. He knows he should, but he was hoping he could put it off a little longer. He eyes the clock by the staircase.

“Maybe I could call tomorrow? Isn’t it too late, tonight?”

Yakov gives him a stern look. “It’s seven hours earlier where he is,” he says.

Viktor grumbles but he knows Yakov’s right.

 

* * *

 

 

Maxim answers on the second ring. “Nikiforov speaking.”

“Hello, father,” Viktor says.

“Yes, Vitya. What is it? Have you found a mate yet?” As always, Maxim doesn’t bother with small talk.

“Yes, actually, that’s why I’m calling,” Viktor says.

There’s the sound of papers rustling in the background. His father must be working, Viktor thinks. “Is she of good family?” Maxim asks.

“Ah, he, actually,” Viktor says. It’s unusual for someone of his station to take a male Omega as a mate, but it’s not unheard of. As long as they are able to bear children, it doesn’t really matter. “And yes, he comes from a good family.” It’s not exactly a lie, Viktor thinks. He’s sure Yuuri’s family are nice people, to raise such a lovely son. He knows it’s not really what Maxim means, but it will do for now. Once he and Yuuri are bonded there’s nothing his father will be able to do about it.

“Excellent,” Maxim says. “I’ll be returning in April. The wedding can be held then.”

“Of course, father,” Viktor says. It’s late September now; surely that will give him enough time to convince Yuuri to bond with him.

“Is there anything else you needed to speak to me about?” Maxim asks.

“No, everything’s fine here, sir.”

“Tell Yakov to call me tomorrow. I want to speak to him about some of our investments.” And with that Maxim hangs up.

“Goodbye, father,” Viktor says before putting the handset back in the cradle. He wonders, sometimes, what it would be like to have a father who wasn’t so distant. Someone he could share his hopes and dreams with. He shakes his head. There’s no use wishing after something he’ll never have.

As he heads to his rooms to unpack and get ready for dinner, Viktor smiles to himself. A spring wedding, he thinks. A spring wedding could be beautiful.

 

* * *

 

 

After breakfast Viktor offers to take Yuuri on a tour of the estate.

When they’d arrived Yuuri hadn’t had a chance to pay much attention to his surroundings. He’d begged off dinner last night, citing exhaustion from the trip. In truth, his tiredness had more to do with his upcoming heat; his body trying to conserve as much energy as possible for what he will be going through in a few days. The housekeeper, Svetlana—Sveta, she’d insisted he call her—had brought his meal to his rooms, and then thankfully he’d been left alone for the rest of the evening.

The mansion itself is far bigger than any personal residence that Yuuri’s ever been in; even the townhouse in Moscow, while elegant, had been at least human-scaled. Here, the soaring ceilings and expansive rooms make Yuuri feel small and insignificant. The suite that he’s been given for his own use is bigger in itself than the family portion of his parents’ inn back home. His rooms are on the second floor, with French doors leading out onto a wide balcony. When the time comes he’ll have no problem climbing to the ground from there. That’s the least of his worries though.

Escaping now would be a bad idea; he’d be in heat, alone in a strange country with no safe place to hide. No, the only chance he has is to stay here and hope that he can convince Viktor to leave him alone until it’s over. It’s possible Viktor will agree, he thinks. Up until now he’s been nothing but kind and gentle to Yuuri, and seems so sincere in his insistence that he’ll do nothing without consent. Yuuri’s under no illusions about what Viktor wants from him eventually, but maybe for now he’ll comply with Yuuri’s wishes. Afterwards he’ll have time to plan his escape properly.

So Yuuri lets Viktor show him around the sprawling mansion. It’s lavishly decorated, expensive furniture and gold leaf and fine silks everywhere. Yet it seems so empty.

“Does this room get used much?” Yuuri asks. They’re in the ballroom, a huge, echoing space with views out to the gardens beyond.

“My parents used to have a lot of parties,” Viktor says. “I was too young to attend, but I’d sneak downstairs and watch anyway.” He smiles fondly. “Sveta would always catch me and scold me. It was still fun, though.” He turns to Yuuri. “I’ve been meaning to ask—the other night, you danced so beautifully—have you studied? Formally?”

Yuuri nods. “A friend of my family’s is a former ballerina. She used to travel the world, performing. When she came back home she started a dance studio. I’ve been studying with her since I was little.”

“It shows,” Viktor says. “My mother taught me to dance. Sometimes I wish I’d made a career of it...” he sighs, then shakes his head. “If you want, you can use this room to practice. I do, sometimes.”

“That’s—thank you,” Yuuri says. He’s pretty sure he won’t be around long enough to take advantage of it, but he’s grateful nonetheless.

“Come on,” Viktor says. “I want to show you the rest of the estate. Would you like to see the stables?”

“Sure,” Yuuri says.

In the stables they feed apples to some of the horses. “Do you ride?” Viktor asks.

“Um, no? I’ve never been around horses much,” Yuuri says.

“If you like, I can teach you.” Viktor points out one of the horses, a dappled gray with gentle eyes. “This mare here is a sweetheart. Good for beginners.” Yuuri nods. Maybe it will be worth staying around long enough for riding lessons, he thinks. If he can steal a horse it will make his escape easier.

They walk through the formal gardens, Makkachin bounding happily along beside them. This time of year the flowers have mostly faded, but it’s still beautiful. “You should see it when the roses are blooming,” Viktor says. At some point as they walk he takes Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri doesn’t protest. He tells himself it’s because he wants Viktor to think he’s content so he doesn’t suspect Yuuri’s plans for escape and have him guarded. Not because having his hand held so tenderly fills him with an unexpected warmth. No, definitely not because of that.

Past the main section of the gardens there’s an honest-to-goodness hedge maze; Yuuri’s never seen one before and he’s fascinated. “I think the previous owners of the estate had it designed,” Viktor tells him. “When I was little I would hide out in it when I wanted to avoid my lessons.” Yuuri laughs at that.

“I used to hide in a park near our home when I wanted to get out of doing chores,” Yuuri says. “Mari always managed to find me, though.”

Viktor looks at him curiously. “Mari?”

“My sister,” Yuuri says. He feels the same ache he always does when he thinks about his family back home. “I miss her,” he says softly, but he’s not sure Viktor hears.

“I always wished I had siblings,” Viktor says. “I had private tutors, because my father didn’t think the local schools were good enough, and my mother didn’t want me sent away to boarding school. I never had friends my age when I was a child.” Yuuri thinks it sounds like a lonely way to grow up. He’d always had a hard time making friends but at least he had a few, like Yuuko and Takeshi. And Mari, even though she was seven years older, was always there for him. “I think my parents wanted more children after I was born,” Viktor continues, “but then my mother got sick...” he trails off, looking into the distance.

There’s an awkward silence. Yuuri casts around for something to say. “What’s in the center of the maze?” he asks.

Viktor seems glad to change the subject. He gives Yuuri a sly look. “It’s a secret,” he says. “I’ll race you there.”

“That’s not fair,” Yuuri says, “you already know your way.”

“I haven’t gone through it in over four years,” Viktor says, “so maybe I’ve forgotten. Anyway, I’ll give you a head start.”

“What do I get if I win?” Yuuri asks.

“Mmm, I’ll think of something,” Viktor says with a smile.

“You’re on,” Yuuri says, and dashes for the entrance. He’s never been able to resist a challenge.

For a little while, as Yuuri runs through the twists and turns of the maze, he forgets his worries about his upcoming heat; forgets how tired he is; forgets the gravity of his current situation. The sky is bright and clear and there's a crispness in the early autumn air. Makkachin follows him, occasionally barking in confusion when she hears Viktor from the other side of a hedge.

“Makkachin! Come on! Find me!” Viktor calls, and Yuuri laughs when she tries to burrow under the hedge.

He has to backtrack a few times, but Yuuri eventually finds his way to the center. There’s a statue of a woman in the middle, and a couple of stone benches. It’s pretty, but hardly as mysterious as Viktor made it sound. Yuuri sits down and just as Viktor comes stumbling into the center. “Took you long enough,” Yuuri says. He tries to make it sound casual but he’s flushed and breathing hard from the exertion.

“Pfft, you only beat me by a few seconds,” Viktor says as he collapses onto the bench next to Yuuri. They both sit for a few moments, catching their breaths and watching Makkachin as she sniffs around the edges of the little clearing.

“So much for the secret of the maze,” Yuuri says.

“Ah, but who is the statue of?” Viktor says, grinning. “It’s a mystery that’s never been solved. Oooo, spooky.” They both laugh.

For a little while Yuuri can pretend that this is normal, that he’s just spending a sunny day with a friend. He looks at Viktor out of the corner of his eye, and realizes that he likes Viktor. He’s funny and kind and oh so devastatingly handsome. Maybe under different circumstances they could be friends. Maybe even more than friends.

Viktor turns to Yuuri, interrupting his thoughts. “You haven’t asked what your prize is for winning,” he says. He takes Yuuri’s hand and brings it to his mouth, lips brushing against the back of Yuuri’s fingers with the gentlest of touches. “A kiss, perhaps?” he says. He leans in close, their foreheads nearly touching. Viktor’s scent surrounds Yuuri, makes his heart race, makes him dizzy. “Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, “can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Yuuri breathes, then, “no—no! I can’t—please—” Viktor pulls back, startled, as Yuuri jumps to his feet. “I—I’m sorry,” Yuuri blurts out, and then runs back out into the maze. He doesn’t look to see if Viktor tries to follow him, he just runs blindly, trying to put space between them. He thinks maybe he hears Viktor call his name, but he’s not sure. His pulse is roaring in his ears. All he knows is that he wants to get away, find someplace to hide. His thoughts are a jumble and he needs time to think.

The only problem is that he can’t remember his way out of the maze. When he hits the third dead end he gives up. He falls to his knees and buries his face in his hands.

Before long he feels a cold, wet nose touching his fingers. He looks up to see Makkachin in front of him wagging her tail. He laughs through his tears and she takes that as an invitation, burrowing her way into his arms. He hugs her tight, face pressed to her soft fur, and sobs.

“Yuuri.” He looks up to see Viktor standing in front of him, a look of concern on his face. He kneels down, starts to reach out to Yuuri but stops himself. “Yuuri, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have pushed—”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri sniffles. He must look a mess, teary-eyed and snot running from his nose, and he’s pretty sure he’s got poodle fur stuck to his face. “It’s not—it’s—I’m just—I’m sorry.” He wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. Viktor takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to Yuuri.

“Yuuri, you don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who messed up.” Viktor sits, cross-legged, his back against the hedge opposite Yuuri. “After everything you’ve been through, and then I bring you here and I just expect—I’m sorry. I just—I like you, Yuuri. I feel like there’s something between us.”

Yuuri scrubs at his face with the handkerchief. He’s not sure he trusts himself to say anything right now. He finishes wiping his face, blows his nose, and readjusts his glasses. Makkachin flops down between them and rolls on her back. Yuuri smiles weakly and scratches at her belly. “It’s my heat,” Yuuri says finally.

“Huh?”

“It’s starting soon. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after,” Yuuri says. “That’s why. It’s not—there’s not—it’s just hormones and pheromones and _instinct_.” Even if there’s some small part of him that’s wondering if it’s more. “That’s all you’re feeling.”

“Oh. Oh!” Viktor stares at him. “Yuuri, I don’t think—”

“And I’m not strong enough!” Yuuri starts crying again. He’s ashamed, but he can’t help it. “I won’t be able to fight you off.”

Viktor’s quiet for a moment. “Yuuri, look at me,” he says finally. Yuuri looks up, meets Viktor’s eyes, sees honest intensity there. “Believe me when I say I will never, ever force you. I want you to accept me, but only because you want to, not because of instinct.” He smiles gently. “I’ll leave for a few days, okay? I’ll go stay in the city. You’ll be safe here. Yakov and the rest of the staff are Betas, they won’t be affected.”

Now it’s Yuuri’s turn to stare. “You’d do that for me?” He hadn’t thought it would be this easy.

“Of course. I told you I never want to hurt you.”

“Then after, will you let me go?” Yuuri says.

“I can’t do that, I told you,” Viktor says. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, Yuuri’s angry. “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he snaps. “You have money. You could send me home, no problem.”

Viktor fidgets uncomfortably. “Yuuri, it’s not that, it’s—it’s just...” he trails off. “Yuuri, I need your help!”

Yuuri stares at him. “My help? What are you talking about?”

“My father—he’s a government minister. He’s going to retire soon, and when he does I’m set to inherit his position. But he won’t let me unless I’m mated and married. He’s given me until spring to choose for myself.” Viktor smiles hopefully at him. “I want it to be you,” he says.

“And you think I’ll agree to that?” Yuuri laughs bitterly. “I don’t care about your ambition.”

“I want to make changes to society, the way Omegas are treated,” Viktor says. “I want to fight for their rights—for your rights. But I can’t do that unless I have political power, and for that I have to play by my father’s rules.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Wouldn’t you be better off with someone, I don’t know, more socially acceptable?”

“Who could be better than you? You could tell your story, make people understand what happens to foreign Omegas in this country. How you were brought here and forced to be a servant—”

“A servant? Is that what you think I was there for?” Yuuri says. “You really are naive.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t there to clean toilets.” Yuuri says. “I was there because they decided I was ‘untouched’ and they were trying to sell my virginity to the highest bidder.”

Viktor just stares at him, stunned.

“But I guess here they want Omegas to be submissive, and the men they gave me to... I fought them off,” Yuuri continues. “I wouldn’t let them come near me. So instead they decided to try and break me. That’s why they gave me to Dmitry, so he could beat me and starve me and make me do the filthiest work until I gave in and stopped fighting.” Yuuri’s silent for a moment, looking down at his clenched fists in his lap. “I was so close,” he says. “So close to breaking. Before you came along. I don’t think I would have lasted much longer.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, “I—I had no idea. I’m so sorry for what you went through. But don’t you see? That’s just the sort of thing I want to stop. With you by my side we can fight for Omega rights!”

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?” Yuuri sighs. “What if I don’t want to fight? What if I just want to go home?”

“Yuuri, I won’t force you into this,” Viktor says. “That goes against everything that I stand for. I want someone with me who’s willing. If I don’t have a mate by spring my father will choose one for me, and that person won’t have a choice. I’m just hoping you’ll give me a chance.” He looks Yuuri in the eyes, his expression earnest. “Give me until spring to win you over. If by then you still want to go home then I’ll get you there safely. I promise.”

“Until spring?” Yuuri asks.

“Yes.”

Yuuri scrunches his eyes shut, rubs at his temples. He can’t believe he’s considering this. Still, spring is only six months away, and a guarantee of getting home safely is better than any plans for escape he can make. “Okay,” he says. “Until spring.”

“Great! Yuuri, you won’t regret it. We’re going to change the world together!”

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor hesitates in front of Yuuri’s door, then knocks. He’s all packed up, ready to go stay in the city for a few days. Yuuri had told him that his heat should only last for two or three days at most, since he’s unbonded (bonded Omegas have heats that last longer). When Yuuri opens the door he looks so exhausted. It pulls at Viktor’s heart, makes him want to cradle Yuuri in his arms and protect him forever. Instead, he gives Yuuri the bouquet of late flowers he’d picked from the garden. “I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving now,” he says.

“Oh, okay,” Yuuri says. He sets the flowers aside, shuffles awkwardly in place.

“Sveta says she’ll make sure you have everything you need, and that you’re left alone,” Viktor says.

“Okay,” Yuuri says again.

“So, um, I just wanted to tell you goodbye,” Viktor smiles, then nods. “So, okay, I’ll see you when I get back.” He turns to leave.

“Viktor—wait,” Yuuri says. Viktor turns back to him. “Um, I just...” Yuuri steps forward, puts his hands on Viktor’s shoulders, then stands on his toes to give Viktor a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Long after Yuuri goes back into his room and shuts the door, Viktor stands in the hallway with his hand pressed to his cheek, his heart soaring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi to me on [tumblr](https://rainyteawrites.tumblr.com/)!


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